


Forget All the Shooting Stars and All the Silver Moons (All I Need is You)

by Incadence



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nihilism, Philosophy, Self-Discovery, Unhealthy Relationships, philosophical sugakookie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incadence/pseuds/Incadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Jeongguk tastes like salvation. Just maybe. (Inspired by Run and I Need U )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget All the Shooting Stars and All the Silver Moons (All I Need is You)

**Author's Note:**

> important: this is NOT a medium for my own views. I am not a nihilist, but I adore philosophy and find the view very interesting. so why not simultaneously write fic and talk about philosophy???
> 
> nihilism  
> ˈnʌɪ(h)ɪlɪz(ə)m  
> noun  
> the rejection of all religious and moral principles, often in the belief that life is meaningless.

Yoongi's mouth was red. Maybe it was blood, maybe it was sin. Whatever it was, his lips spread into a smile, careless, free and porcelain white at the edges, where the red stains.

Jeongguk can feel the roar of desperation against his ears, overwhelming and insistent. It's what makes his vision cloud black and blue; it's what makes him jerk forward, it's what makes him crave the way Yoongi's skin splits under the curve of his knuckles.  

And Yoongi's laughing. The sound of it fills the ground with red and black and grey. Jeongguk fists a hand through his shirt and pulls him up.

He's smiling and smiling, lips a slash of red against milky skin.

"Do you feel alive now?" Jeongguk spits, hands shaking, fingers trembling.

Yoongi's mouth opens, tongue flicking out to swipe against his lips where the blood dots his skin like rose drops.

"Yes," he breathes, and leans in to press a kiss against Jeongguk's mouth.

Jeongguk opens his mouth and his eyes flutter closed.

For the first time in a while, Yoongi tastes _alive._

 

-

 Jeongguk first meets Yoongi in autumn. 

Everyone’s heard  of Yoongi. The boy on the outskirts of town. Rebellious, aggressive and ultimately lost. He doesn’t go to school; some say he doesn’t do anything at all. All he leaves are footsteps in his self induced isolation. He was once smart,  they say in their snatched whispers brilliantly so. A 'wasted pretty face' with a future cloudier than the pollution littering Daegu's skies. 

They say people like Yoongi  are the demons of this society. They crave chaos, they crave destruction.  Yoongi would disagree, and he doesn't give a shit what you call him. He could be the cigarette stain against your shoes, or the sweet scent of a lover against pretty wrists. Whatever he was, all Yoongi knows is that freedom is delicious and power was addicting.

Then there was Jeongguk. They said Jeongguk was going places. They said Jeongguk was going to leave this wretched town and become their pride. They said he was golden. Jeongguk was smart. Jeongguk was talented. Jeongguk did what he told.

Until he meets Yoongi.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was beauty. Maybe it was nothing but the cruel nails of fate. But whatever it was, it makes Jeongguk hesitate, long enough for Yoongi to catch him looking. 

Yoongi is amber hair, rippling at his ears, lying across the ground, squinting up at the sun. Jeongguk shouldn’t stare. He should move on like they tell him. _Don’t talk to Yoongi. Don’t talk to the lost boy. He'll lie and corrupt. Stay away._  They say again and again. But, you can’t condition something inherent like curiosity, so with a childlike naivety, he pauses, hoists his backpack tighter and asks. "Are you going to school?”

Yoongi's expression can only be described as lazy when he regards Jeongguk. He smiles, like the question amuses him.

“If it isn’t Jeongguk,” Yoongi grins. “And to answer your question--no.”

“Why?” Jeongguk asks. Curiosity killed the cat. 

“A better question,” Yoongi sighs. “Would be why are you going to school?”

“Because I want good grades.” Jeongguk answers confidently. “Because I want to get into a good university. Because I want a future. Don’t you?” His tone turns a little confronting, but all it does is amuse Yoongi. 

“Say, Jeongguk have you ever heard of free will?” Yoongi smiles, it’s a little sad at the edges. 

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi’s eyes are bright, and it draws in Jeongguk like the warmth of a small fire. “Skip school Jeongguk, and I'll explain.” He replies.

“I can’t.” Jeongguk says, taking two tiny steps back.

Yoongi leans in, tilting his head to carefully hold Jeongguk's gaze, and then says, “Why?" And before Jeongguk can reply, Yoongi continues. "Because you fear, that’s what's wrong with you Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk lets his bag fall to the floor, and it’s curiosity, anger or perhaps Yoongi's inviting smile that makes him step closer. “I don’t understand.” he answers, and Yoongi’s laugh is warm and knowing.

 

-

 

Yoongi is a nihilist at heart. They call them the monsters of society, because nothing scares them at all. They are indestructible.

“Isn’t it a little pessimistic?” Jeongguk questions, watching the sunset paint the, sky an apricot red. He turns to look at Yoongi, at the peaceful lines of his face under the setting sun. 

Yoongi laughs. “Do you think I want to be like this? Humans crave meaning. I’m not much different. I’ve just accepted it.”

“That’s really interesting.” Jeongguk says, and if Yoongi would have cared to look, he might have seen the awe from the ignorant youth. But his gaze is fixed on the sky. “Can I come back tomorrow?” Jeongguk adds, eyes bright and eager. 

Amusement clouds Yoongi’s features. “You’re not going to school?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, hoisting his back pack over his shoulder and gives Yoongi a small smile. “I learnt more today than I did in the years I spent in that shithole.”

It makes Yoongi laugh, genuine and careless. “Attaboy.”

 

-

In winter, they call Yoongi corruption, and Jeongguk corrupted. They say the sugar sweet words Yoongi breathe to Jeongguk are nothing but lies. Yoongi calls it salvation.

It didn't matter what you liked to call it, because, Jeongguk comes day after day, backpack in hand, and sits at Yoongi’s feet, holding onto every careless phrase, ever nonsensical thought, eyes bright with wonder, and what Yoongi likes to think is enlightenment. Sometimes he listens, sometimes he talks. Just two insignificant boys in an abandoned train lot, lost in pointless words, and unanswerable philosophies.

“But why are you still so unhappy?” Jeongguk murmurs into the darkness, eyelids fluttering, as they watch the polluted stretch of sky. "You should be free Yoongi." 

“Because I was alone,” Yoongi answers. “There’s nothing worse than isolation, Jeongguk. Even in this fucked up world."

Jeongguk seems unconvinced.

“That’s not it,” Yoongi frowns at that, an unanswered question on his lips. “Because I’m here.”  Jeongguk answers with an air of finality. Yoongi merely shrugs at that, because after all, it is true. "You want meaning don’t you?" Jeongguk continues, the words gentle and calculated. "Even if you think there is none.”

“We all do,” Yoongi answers easily.

Something in Jeongguk’s eyes shine. It’s only later that Yoongi realizes it was a naive determination. “Say, what do you dream about Yoongi?”

“I want passion,” Yoongi says easily. “Fire and ignorance makes happiness, darling. And I don’t have any of that.”

“Fire?” Jeongguk smiles. “What, are you burning out Yoongi?”

Yoongi contemplates it for a second, gaze resting in his hands, where they are curled in his lap "Maybe," he says finally. When Jeongguk doesn’t reply, Yoongi turns to look at him. He’s staring. Eyes tracing the curve of his cheek, the slope of his nose, so softly, so carefully, almost as if he’s trying to reach in and untangle the messy intricacies that was the enigma, Yoongi.

“I know that look,” Yoongi says, huffing a gentle laugh. “You’ve got some shitty idea haven’t you?”

Jeongguk nods, lips splitting into a grin so wide, his eyes disappear into beautiful half-lit crescents. “I’m thinking, I want to save you.”

Yoongi scoffs. “And how are you going to do that?”

Jeongguk stands up, and pushes his bag so it falls to the ground, and the books spill out in a flurry of pages and colourful covers. He doesn’t ever pick it up. Jeongguk leans down and holds out an outstretched hand. “C’mon Yoongi, get up.”

“The hell you want?” Yoongi scoffs, but still, he takes Jeongguk’s hand.

“I don’t know about ignorance.” Jeongguk replies. “But we can always find fire.”

 

-

 

Yoongi does not know what Jeongguk means by fire. He does not mean cupped hands over dwindling flames. He does not mean the overarching heat from the red that licks at wooden houses and charred logs.

He means this.

The furious slash of heat against his ribs, burning up to his chest, mixed with laughter that fuels the flare in their lungs, that fuels the burn blooming under their skin. There's paint staining his fingers red, there's gold tainting his pockets, and there's the imprints of Jeongguk's nails in his palms as they run and run and _run_. Fire in their lungs, fire in their legs, fire in their chest. Red is the sunset, and red are the sirens that shatter the beauty of it.

“I thought you were a good kid,” Yoongi exhales shakily as Jeongguk tugs him into the darkness, his chest heaving from exertion. “What is this?”

Jeongguk holds Yoongi close with spray tinted nails, eyes fluttering closed as the sirens fade. “Did you think I was always golden before I came to this shitty town? I can do calculus with my eyes fucking closed, but out here, I feel alive. I feel awake. I missed this.”

Yoongi pushes Jeongguk into the wall with a sharp shove, and he gasps through the the pain that burns through his very lungs. Laughter staining his chest with each heave and breathy exhale. “You’re really something aren’t you?”

Jeongguk's neck is exposed as he laughs, flashing white against the darkness. "Are you burning Yoongi? _Are you alive?"_

Yoongi leans in, Jeongguk smells like copper and honey. He can't get enough of it. "You call this fire?" Yoongi bites out.

Jeongguk frowns, before his lips curve into a smirk again, teasing, sharp and impulsive with youth. "Then no. This isn't fire." Jeongguk says, his fingers curl into Yoongi's shirt, and leans in, nose brushing against Yoongi's cheek. "This is." Yoongi can't help but smile, when Jeongguk lips graze his. The barest tease. The barest taste.

Jeongguk's expression is unreadable when he pulls back, betraying his unease. Yoongi huffs a laugh, and his hands move to tug at his hair. "Oh Jeongguk," he sighs, shoving a knee between Jeongguk's thighs. "That's not how you make a flame, darling."

"Is... Is this?" Jeongguk says in between snatches of Yoongi's name and careless moans.

Yoongi seals Jeongguk's mouth with a kiss. One that burns, one that's teeth, tongue, and nails scraping across Jeongguk's back. "Maybe." Yoongi breathes into Jeongguk's mouth.

Jeongguk's wrong though.

This isn't fire. Maybe the heat that flares under his abdomen is, maybe the marks that stain his skin red and blue and purple are, maybe the heat they create is. But this isn't. Jeongguk doesn't taste like flames.

No.

Quite the opposite. Jeongguk tastes like rain against dirty hands. He tastes like ice against hot skin. He tastes like ash after a volcano. Full of life, youth and passion.

And maybe Jeongguk tastes like salvation. Just maybe.

But whatever it was,Yoongi craves it. And wishes he could breathe out every inch of him through his lips. Make him _his_.

"Save me," Yoongi murmurs against Jeongguk's neck, as he feels the boy unravel against him, into a mess of moans and desire, fingers lacing through his hair, breath hot against his neck.

Afterwards, Jeongguk exhales shakily into the dusky skies of midnight, sinking down to join Yoongi on the dusty ground of the forgotten alleyway. Yoongi turns to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, and Jeongguk trembles under him, like the soft pressure of Yoongi's lips hurt. 

“It’s crazy how insignificant we are,” Yoongi laughs, as he feels Jeongguk dip his head into his shoulder. He can't help but pull him up for another kiss though. Because the thing was, none of it meant anything, but that didn’t mean Jeongguk wasn’t beautiful.

“But we try so hard,” Jeongguk says, watching the column of car lights flash over the nearly empty streets. His eyes are illuminated bright, and Yoongi can’t help but stare. “And isn’t that kind of beautiful?”

“You’re much too kind,” Yoongi says, brushing a hand through Jeongguk’s hair. “You don’t need to save me. And you never needed to stay.”

“But I want to.” _How stupid._

“Then you’re all mine,” Yoongi murmurs, and before Jeongguk can reply, he seals his lips with a heady kiss.

 

-

The thing about adrenaline and fleeting lust was that it burns quick.

The two burn and burn. After all, he can spread Jeongguk across streets, in dirty alley ways, after shattered glass and heaving lungs. But after a while, tear the lust and adrenaline away and all you have is tedium. And Yoongi wants more. Yoongi always wanted more.

In spring, Jeongguk tastes like flower petals, but not fire.

The cheap hotel bed is warm where the two are sprawled,  a mess of naked limbs and tangled fingers. Jeongguk looks soft, and so incredibly fragile, features softened with the brushes of youth. Yoongi wants to corrupt it, want to make it his. It’s greed and sin, but what was sin to a god Yoongi does not believe in?

“You’re so pretty,” Jeongguk says, pressing a kiss against the corner of Yoongi’s mouth.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head to hold Jeongguk’s gaze. “Let’s fall in love.”

Jeongguk’s expression flickers at that, uncertain and guarded. But it’s Yoongi, and with Yoongi, he always breaks. “You say that like it’s easy.”

Yoongi gives Jeongguk a crooked grin. “Isn’t it?”

 

-

When Yoongi isn’t thinking, when he isn’t destroying, he is writing, a creator of music. It’s the least a human can do, in their attempt to make a mark on this world. Through spilled ink, he talks about love. Everyone does. Love, lust, falling in, falling out, kissing and fucking and all the stages of heartbreak in thick spitting lyrics. Music is a sort of freedom, because Yoongi can say whatever he wants, and no one really cares, because no one was really listening in a world like this.

Composing was one thing. Actually loving was another.

“We’re adolescents. What do we know about love?” Jeongguk says, more like an afterthought, in between sticky bed sheets, and Yoongi’s chaste, chaste kisses. Between tangled fingers, and hot skin.

“It’s the act of creation.” Yoongi shrugs. The ghost of Jeongguk’s scraped nails burn against his skin when he sits up.

“What we created, what this is. I don’t think it’s love.” Jeongguk says between cheap wrinkled bed sheets, and the flicker of shitty hotel candles.

Yoongi watches the candle at their bedside table flicker, a gentle calming flame. “What is it then?” He becomes fixated on the blue of the flame, how hot it burns, and how jarring it is against the orange and red. Blue never did have a place in between the red, yet it burned the hottest. The juxtaposition amused him. 

Jeongguk looks strangely young under the shadow the candles casts across the slope of his cheeks, and the curve of his lips. “Isn’t it obsession?'

“Interesting,” Yoongi snorts. “Care to tell me what we’re obsessed with?”

Jeongguk trails feather light touches against Yoongi’s collarbones; the movement makes Yoongi shiver, eyes fluttering. “You’re obsessed with meaning. While I’m obsessed with you.”

Jeongguk’s expression is unreadable, yet so vulnerable. Maybe it was because of the naked skin, and the fragility of the night. Yoongi thinks it’s because Jeongguk’s was his all along.

“Like a moth to a flame.”

Jeongguk smiles. “Rightly so.”

And Jeongguk’s wings might be burning, but he curls up against Yoongi’s side, and presses his cheek against his chest to listen to the erratic beats of his heart.

Between them something burns. But it wasn’t the fire Yoongi craved.

 

-

 

_“Why are you still trying to save me?”_

_“Because I love you.”_

 

-

 

In summer, Yoongi realizes Jeongguk might be more than he needs.

Loving Jeongguk was easy, he stains Yoongi’s lips sticky sweet. And god does he taste addicting. He might never tell Jeongguk, but the way he breaks for Yoongi, the way he kisses, and the way he gives, might be better than fire. It’s intoxicating, even if it doesn’t mean anything.

“What do you believe in?” Yoongi asks, between starlit skin and naked hands.

Jeongguk’s smile breathes innocence. “Us.” He answers. It’s foolish, but it makes Yoongi laugh anyways.

“Even if it doesn’t mean anything?”

Jeongguk stares up at the sky, the glittering stars and the mocking clouds. He presses kisses to Yoongi’s knuckles. “Especially if it doesn’t meant anything.”

 

-

 

It’s kind of fucked up. But Yoongi finds that they are quite beautiful. A simple human creation within the nonsensical nature of the world; in the insignificance that was man. But, the most beautiful thing about love, or whatever fucked up monstrosity they created was that creation always eventually led to destruction. Pain was something only man seemed to really thrive in. And the beauty in destruction far overrides that in creation.

Alcohol creates a different fire, it makes his veins flare, the briefest release. Every time Yoongi’s drunk, Jeongguk leaves the room. Sometimes Yoongi makes him stay, because there’s something so inherently addicting in seeing the way Jeongguk’s face breaks for him.

“Darling,” Yoongi murmurs, the breath of alcohol flirting his lips. “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.”

Emotion colours Jeongguk’s face red. Even redder are the marks against Yoongi’s shoulders from foreign nails, dipped purple with sin.

“Why?” Jeongguk asks. His voice doesn’t shake. His fingers do not tremble. “Why now?”

Yoongi laughs, and the bottle falls to the ground, shattering against the ground in a myriad of shiny, broken glass. “Oh, Jeongguk. I was always eventually going to break you, you know.” Alcohol makes his lungs flare, makes his chest heave. “And you stayed long enough to _burn_ with me babe.”

Jeongguk smile wavers. “I couldn’t leave. I wanted to save you.” His steps closer, and Yoongi’s smile stays fixed on his face. “All I wanted to do was fucking save you Yoongi.”

“But?”

There are no tears, none at all, because Jeongguk doesn’t let any fall. “But I was never enough. I gave you everything you wanted, I gave you  lust, I gave you love-”

“And now I want pain.” Yoongi says. “Make that fire burn. Isn’t this what you wanted Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk eyes are crystal bright against the flickering lights.

“Break me, like I broke you,” Yoongi murmurs.

Jeongguk’s mask shatters and all Yoongi can see is broken youth and snatched desperation, the flawed beauty of pain and desperation, reflected in the shiny brightness of Jeongguk’s eyes. His eyes flutter closed, and then open again.

“You selfish son of a bitch.” Jeongguk says, quiet enough that Yoongi almost misses it. He holds up trembling fingers to cradle his face. Yoongi leans into the touch. 

“You selfish son of a bitch!” Jeongguk repeats, this time louder, a snarl against Yoongi’s ears. Yoongi loves the way it sounds, the way the shattering of his voice reverberates through his spine. But Yoongi doesn’t get to reply, because the force of Jeongguk’s knuckles against his cheek is enough to send brilliant waves of pleasure down his spine, blooming to his chest in wild laughter, making him sprawl into a mess onto the floor.

"Is this what you want?" Jeongguk’s voice splits against the tattered walls. His hands are trembling and Yoongi likes the raw emotion stitched to his very sleeves, sketched out into every tear drop, every punch, and every sharp jolt of pain blooming across his cheekbone. “Do you feel alive now?”

“Yes,” Yoongi breathes. And when Jeongguk opens his mouth when Yoongi kisses him, when he fists his hands through Yoongi’s hair and surges forward like he can’t get enough. It makes it all the more satisfying. Between harried kisses, and scraped nails, Jeongguk gives a slight sob, before he pushes Yoongi off, his mouth a raw red, his eyes a darkening blue.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” The words are scarily gentle. And he turns his back on him, when Yoongi stumbles back. “I hope you find your meaning Yoongi.” Jeongguk says, from the door. “I really do.” _And I'm sorry I wasn't enough._

And when Yoongi was alone, with only the taste of his own blood on his lips, and the ghost of Jeongguk’s fingerprints on him, it’s only then the quiet suffocates.

Yoongi sits there, until the silence fucks him up.  

He almost expects Jeongguk to return, for Yoongi to take what he needs again. Because, moths never do learn their lessons.

But Jeongguk already gave what Yoongi wanted. Or maybe he already burnt up. Who knows.

(Or maybe he wasn’t a moth at all. Butterflies aren’t drawn to flames like moths are. And with beauty like that, how could Jeongguk be a mere moth waiting to burn?)

 

-

 

There still wasn’t ever any meaning. The meaning everyone wanted the answer to. But there was Jeongguk, and there was Yoongi. And where there was Jeongguk, there is only silence now. And even Yoongi knows, that anything hurts less than the quiet.

After all, what was a fire without charred wings? What was fire without something to burn on?

 

-

 

The air is thick with moisture, and the clouds are a dark grey, with the barest kiss of rain when Yoongi meets Jeongguk again. His feet are dangling over the dock, skimming over the water when he feels the familiar patter of footsteps, slow and hesitant. What’s funny is that when Yoongi turns to see, he can still see the remnants of his fingerprints on Jeongguk’s face, on the way he stands, and the way his expression closes over.

“It’s going to rain,” Jeongguk says, eyes gazing up to the sky, hands shoved into his pockets.

Yoongi's feet skim over the water. “Let it. I’ll rather let it rain than burn out.”

“And did you?” He feels Jeongguk's eyes on him. It's familiarity. “Burn out I mean.”

Yoongi’s smile is small and sad. “You were always too kind Jeongguk.” He turns to Jeongguk, and tilts his head. “No one falls in love with fire. Yet you wanted to keep it burning. That’s pretty fucked up.”

“I wasn’t enough though,” Jeongguk says, like it’s fact.

Yoongi feels the first droplet land on his cheek. A splash of coolness against his skin. “You never needed to be.” His eyelashes are wet where the droplets catch when he closes his eyes.

Jeongguk snorts. “What do you mean?”

“There still wasn’t meaning you know,” Yoongi sighs. “In the fire we created, in all that lust, love, pain and heartbreak.”

There’s a slight flash of anger across Jeongguk’s face. Quick and confronting. “Then what was the point of it?”

“There is no point, and I’ve accepted that.” Yoongi gives Jeongguk a crooked smile. “There was never any meaning Jeongguk, only choice.”

“Choice?” Jeongguk frowns. “Didn’t you want to be free?”

“You’re right, Choice implies no freedom,” Yoongi says. “But,” He exhales shakily, as rain trickles across his skin. “I don’t want something shitty like freedom anyway.”

“And what did you choose?” Jeongguk asks. Those words are careful and hesitant, he's still guarded, face masked. But yet, Jeongguk still sits down and lets their shoulders brush; he arches into Yoongi's warmth, like a butterfly drawn to the sticky sweetness of a flower's petals. 

The rain falls.

Yoongi hesitates, and then says, “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” He lets the wetness seep into his skin, sending slight shivers down his spine. 

“Then what do you have to burn on?” Jeongguk laughs, under wet skin, red blooms across his cheek.

A slight flash of thunder illuminates Yoongi’s face, and in the briefest of seconds he looks _alive._

“It’s too late Jeongguk,” Yoongi interlocks their fingers, watching the pitter patter of the droplets litter the lake. “It’s raining.”

They let the rain fall; onto their skin, onto their clothes, onto their faces and onto their trembling lips. This time, they don’t hide from it. This time, Jeongguk doesn't try to guard their little flare with cupped hands. This time, they let it rain. And when Yoongi finally leans in to kiss Jeongguk, a soft, chaste brush of lips; Yoongi finds he tastes like sweet, summer rain.

And a little like salvation. Just a little. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was so hard to write (ﾉಥДಥ)ﾉ︵┻━┻  
> And I can't believe I finished it? And i'm proud i actually tied this into one piece even if it may be a little hard to understand.  
> BUT!!! I can't always write crack and smut, so to grow as a writer I'm planning to challenge myself these holidays!!  
> So, i'm just going to leave this here..... and hope someone likes it lol  
> [writing blog](http://maknaie.tumblr.com/) |


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